


stuck on you

by wearing_tearing



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sharing Clothes, Sick Bucky Barnes, Sickfic, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7275262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearing_tearing/pseuds/wearing_tearing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bucky? You don’t look so hot.”</p><p>Bucky makes a tiny little sound in the back of his throat, only to start coughing. Of course he doesn’t look hot. He’s sick and he’s <i>dying</i> and Steve obviously isn’t attracted to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stuck on you

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back! :D
> 
> prompted by anon: stevebucky + stuck in an elevator.

“Are you dying? Because you look like you’re dying.”

Bucky sniffles and glances up at Sam, swallowing once and grimacing through the hurt in his throat. “No, I’m fine.”

Bucky is not fine.

He is the opposite of fine.

The little tickle in the back of his throat from yesterday has turned into a full-blown _cold_ , and all he wants to do is slide to the floor, curl up on a little ball, and forget the world exists. Not that he can, he thinks to himself, now blinking at his computer screen and the dozens of unanswered emails he needs to get to.

“Yeah, no, you’re not fine.” Sam grabs the back of Bucky’s chair and pulls it away from the desk, ignoring Bucky’s yelp of protest. “You’re not staying here.”

“Sam—”

“Watching you type while looking like a sick puppy is causing me _physical pain_ ,” Sam tells him, pulling Bucky up, grabbing his jacket, and forcing Bucky’s arms through it. Bucky doesn’t have the strength to push him away, but he does manage to send him a nasty glare that is probably not that effective when his nose is red and his eyes are watery and he's breathing through his mouth. “Go home, keep hydrated, and don’t get everyone else in this office sick.”

“But I—”

“ _Home_ ,” Sam says firmly, throwing Bucky’s bag to him.

Bucky tries to catch it, he really does. But his entire body feels heavy, his reflexes too slow, and he barely manages to lift up his arms before his bag hits him in the stomach and then falls to the floor. Sam just blinks at him and then shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m fine,” Bucky says again, although they both know he isn’t.

“I don’t want to see you here until you’re feeling better.” Sam points a finger at him, and when Bucky opens his mouth to argue he adds, “And if you come in when you’re still sick, I’m gonna tell T’Challa on you.”

Bucky gasps, which then turns into a cough, and it takes him a few seconds to catch his breath before he says, “You wouldn’t do that to me.”

“I absolutely would.”

Bucky’s shoulders slump, making him curl in on himself. It’s not that T’Challa is a bad boss, quite the opposite. He’s one of the best and most generous guys Bucky has ever had the pleasure of working for in the publishing industry, and also someone Bucky has come to consider a friend. Still, he has a healthy fear of the man, and he absolutely does _not_ want any of this to get back to him. He’s not sure he can handle T’Challa’s gentle brand of caring and quiet concern at the moment.

“Okay,” Bucky sighs, picking up his bag and throwing the strap over his shoulder. “I’ll be back when I’m feeling better.”

“How about we make that next week?” Sam claps his on the shoulder. “No showing up here until Monday.”

“Sam.”

“ _Monday_.”

“But my work—”

“Wanda and Pietro can take care of it,” Sam tells him. “That’s what interns are for.”

Bucky nods, defeated. He waves Sam goodbye and gets on the elevator, leaning back against one of the walls and closing his eyes. Now that he’s not faced with piles or work that needs to get done, it is as if everything he was ignoring comes rushing back: his throat hurts, his nose feels stuffy, his head is pounding, and his body feels leaden. As he shivers a little, probably from fever, he knows he’s going to get worse before he gets better. And he’s not looking forward to days of coughing and sneezing and feeling like absolute shit.

He’s busy trying to hold himself up against the wall when the elevator dings and stops on the 12th floor. He opens his eyes just as the doors slide open, and almost loses his balance when another person steps in.

“Hey, Buck.”

Bucky blinks, heart in his throat, as Steve Rogers smiles at him.

You see, Bucky has a crush.

A huge, embarrassing, and totally _helpless_ crush.

On Steve Rogers. Who is currently standing right in front of him and smiling like he’s not ruining Bucky’s life with his mere existence.

They met right after Bucky first started working at _Wakanda Publishing_ , when Sam roped Bucky into going out for drinks with people from the office. Bucky remembers being in deep conversation with one of the editors, Sharon, when Sam suddenly got up, bumping his chair into Bucky’s side. Bucky turned around, wanting to see what got Sam so excited.

He didn't know what he was expecting, but a six-feet-two blond beefcake with bright blue eyes and the pinkest lips Bucky had ever seen _definitely_ wasn't it. And things only got worse when he turned those blue eyes at Bucky, plump lips forming a wide and welcoming smile as Sam introduced them.

Bucky wasn’t gone on Steve Rogers the minute their palms touched, Steve’s fingers curling around his as they shook hands. He really wasn’t. Attracted to him? _Fuck yes_. Wanting to climb him like a tree? _Sign him the fuck up_. But it was all lust. Or at least it was, until he actually got to _talk_ to Steve that night, got to know him a little bit, from his opinions to his sass to his righteous anger when people were acting like absolute dicks. _That_ was when feelings got involved and when Bucky realized he had a huge and embarrassing crush on Steve.

So yeah, Steve ruins Bucky's life with his constant _everything,_ mostly because all Bucky wants to do is sweep him off his feet and kiss him senseless.

“Bucky?” Steve’s smile slips and gives place to a frown as he steps closer, his hand now resting on Bucky’s arm, the warmth of it seeping through Bucky’s clothes. “You don’t look so hot.”

Bucky makes a tiny little sound in the back of his throat, only to start coughing. Of course he doesn’t look hot. He’s sick and he’s _dying_ and Steve obviously isn’t attracted to him. Steve who, in fact, _is_ hot.

Hot as hell.

As hot as the sun that seems to power his smiles.

“Fuck,” Bucky wheezes, dropping his head, his eyes watering as he tries to catch his breath.

He hears Steve curse next to him, his hand leaving Bucky’s arm for a moment and settling on the back of his neck. Bucky shudders and presses into the touch. Steve is so _warm_ and Bucky is shivering under his clothes, his skin clammy and sensitive.

“Here.” Steve squeezes the back of Bucky’s neck, touching the rim of a plastic bottle to Bucky’s bottom lip.

Bucky lets Steve tilts his head up, the water soothing his throat as he drinks in small sips. Steve is pressed against his side, murmuring _there you go_ and _that’s it_ and _you’re okay_ , his breath ghosting over Bucky’s temple.

“Thanks,” Bucky whispers and licks his lips after Steve pulls the bottle away, his voice hoarse.

“No problem,” Steve answers just as quietly, thumb stroking the soft skin of Bucky’s neck. “Better?”

Bucky shakes his head, stomach flipping when Steve doesn’t move away. “Not really.”

“Caught a cold?”

“Yeah. You probably shouldn’t be standing so close to me right now.”

Bucky watches in fascination as Steve goes still and then blushes, from the tips of his ears and down to his neck. Bucky’s eyes kind of glaze over a little, mind running ahead of him and wondering how far down Steve’s chest the blush goes. But he’s pulled away from his thoughts when Steve’s fingers spasm against his neck,  and when he glances up at Steve it’s to find him staring in horror at his hand on the back of Bucky’s neck, as if only now realizing they’re touching.

“Hey, it’s ok—,”

Bucky abruptly cuts himself off when the lights blink and the elevator jolts to a halt, causing Bucky to lose his balance. He pitches forward, snapping his eyes shut and preparing himself for the pain of falling face first into the floor. But it's not pain or a broken nose that awaits him.

An arm wraps itself around his waist, keeping Bucky upright, just as his face meets the hard planes of Steve’s chest. The fabric of Steve’s sweater soft against his cheek, the scent of him filling Bucky's nose. Steve smells of sweat, coffee, and coconut, and Bucky wants to rub himself all over him.

“Shit, you okay?”

Bucky nods against Steve’s chest, breathing him in as best as he can with his stuffy nose. He pulls back, mourning the loss of Steve’s body close to his, and glances around the dark elevator, just before the emergency lights blink back on.

“It's not moving.”

“Guess it's stuck.” Steve frowns, moving away from Bucky and to the elevator panel. He hits the emergency button, and a few seconds later a voice clicks on.

“ _Sirs, I'm Mr. Lang. It seems the elevators have stopped working_.”

“No shit,” Bucky mumbles, grumpy now that Steve isn't close to him and he's left stuck in a metal box while sick.

“This is Steve Rogers. How long before it’s fixed?” Steve asks, glancing at Bucky from over his shoulder.

“ _We are already working on fixing the issue. It shouldn't be more than an hour._ ”

“Can it be done sooner?”

There's a pause, and then Lang asks, “ _Is there a problem we should be aware of_?”

“Aside from the obvious?” Steve snarks, and then sighs. “Bucky has a cold.”

“ _Bucky_?”

“James Barnes,” Steve corrects himself, sending Bucky a sheepish smile. “He’s here with me.”

Bucky just waves him off. He doesn't care what Steve says as long as it helps them get out of here faster. Bucky is cold and hurting and all he wants to do is crawl into his bed and wake up next week.

Or to cosy up to Steve’s chest again, he’s not picky.

“ _We’ll try to get you both out of there as soon as possible_ ,” Lang replies, which isn’t much of answer.

Steve seems to get that, saying thanks and then taking two steps back to Bucky’s side. “Guess we’ll be here for a while.”

“Great,” Bucky groans, leaning on the wall and then sliding to the floor, folding his legs under him. He crosses his arms over his chest, trying to pull his jacket tighter around him.

“Cold?”

Bucky turns to Steve, blinking heavily as Steve sits down next to him. His voice cracks when he answers, throat hurting, “Think I have a fever.”

“Shit, Buck,” Steve says softly, lifting a hand up to Bucky’s face. “Mind if I…”

Bucky shakes his head, eyes fluttering shut when he feels Steve’s palm on his forehead. His breath catches, something Bucky will blame on him being sick, and he can’t help but make a pitiful small sound when Steve takes his hand back.

“You’re definitely warm.”

“You’re warm,” Bucky mumbles, only to snap his mouth close when he realizes he's said that out loud.

Steve laughs, and when Bucky opens his eyes and chances a glance at him, he finds Steve with his head ducked, a small smile on his face.

“Guess that's a good thing, huh?”

Bucky shrugs, embarrassed. “Sure wish I felt less cold right now.”

Steve shrugs out of his coat, throwing it over Bucky's shoulders. “Here.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky starts, but stops himself when he’s enveloped in warmth and Steve’s scent, not that he gets to appreciate it much in the state he's in.

Steve rubs his hands up and down Bucky’s arms a few times, before grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling it tighter around Bucky's neck. “Better?”

Bucky is too flustered to answer. He can barely bring himself to nod, fingers curling around the thick fabric, muscles relaxing a little. He still doesn't feel good, but there's something comforting about Steve’s jacket covering him.

“Thanks,” Bucky whispers, sniffing.

“Any time, Buck,” Steve tells him, knocking their knees together.

Bucky presses into the touch when Steve doesn’t pull away, and his lips curl up with a ghost of a smile. _This isn’t so bad_ , he thinks. If he has to be stuck in an elevator while sick, at least he gets to do it with Steve.

 

*

 

Okay, this is bad.

Bucky might have been trying to find the silver lining in all of this, but it’s difficult when his head starts throbbing after fifteen minutes and his throat is dry and sore and he’s shivering again, even with Steve’s jack over his own. He coughs weakly into his fist, wheezing a little, and then rummages through his bag in search of his tissues.

He doesn’t even care how gross it is to blow his nose next to the guy he hopes to date someday. If he ever gets the courage to come clean about his feelings, that is. He just squares his shoulders and does it, hoping Steve won’t find him disgusting. Not that Bucky would blame him, really.

“Shit, Buck,” Steve curses, and Bucky can’t help but wince. “You don’t sound good.”

“No’ feelin’ so good,” Bucky admits, clearing his throat when his voice cracks.

“Here,” Steve hands him his water bottle, fingers brushing against Bucky’s in the process. “Drink that. I’m gonna go talk to them again, tell them to hurry.”

“‘Kay.”

Bucky doesn’t have the energy to argue. He barely has the strength to open the bottle, movements clumsy and slow. He can hear Steve talking to Lang again, low and harsh, words not registering.

Putting the bottle down, Bucky leans forward, grimacing when it makes his head hurt worse. He slips his arms through the sleeves of Steve’s jacket and then makes work of the zipper, pulling it up. He then curls into himself, knees up and pressed to his chest, trying to make a little cocoon of warmth for himself.

“Fuck,” Steve says, bringing Bucky’s attention to him.

Bucky blinks up at Steve, brows furrowing in confusion. Even more so when Steve plops down beside him and scoots until their sides are touching, one of his arms going around Bucky’s shoulders.

“What?” Bucky asks, suddenly feeling very awake, heart speeding up in his chest.

“You’re shivering,” Steve tells him, resting one of his hands on Bucky’s forehead again. “Your fever is getting worse. I know this won’t help much, but at least it’s something.”

Bucky opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, not knowing what to say. Part of him knows this is a _terrible_ idea, but he’s also feeling like shit warmed over, so he figures he deserves some comfort. He still puts up a weak token of protest, though. Steve doesn’t need to know how pathetic he truly is.

“C’mere.” Steve tugs him closer, both arms now wrapped around Bucky, their bodies flush together.

Bucky burrows into him, into his warmth, letting out a soft sigh. There’s nothing better than being in Steve’s arms, close enough that he can rest his head on Steve’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he says, breath ghosting over the hollow of Steve’s throat, and Bucky can feel the shudder that runs through Steve’s body.

“Rest,” Steve says, and Bucky must be even worse than he thinks he is, because he can swear Steve presses a kiss to the top of his head and tightens his hold.

 

*

 

Bucky doesn’t know for how long they are in the elevator. All he knows is that he wakes up with Steve shaking his shoulder, looking down at him with concern, the elevator springing to life around them.

“C’mon,” Steve murmurs, giving him an encouraging smile. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Yeah?”

Steve helps him up, keeping an arm around his waist when he sways place, one of his own hands coming up to grip at the front of Steve’s sweater. The elevator doors open on the ground floor, and Bucky groans internally when T’Challa and Sam start walking towards him.

“Barnes,” T’Challa says, lips curling down.

“Sam already sent me home,” Bucky answers, wincing at the sounds of his own wrecked voice. “Not my fault the elevator got stuck.”

“You look worse than you did before, man,” Sam comments, shaking his head.

T’Challa frowns, clearly unhappy. “We can call for medical assistance.”

Bucky does groans out loud then. “Please don’t. I just wanna go home.”

He must look downright miserable, because T’Challa only presses his lips together in a tight line and nods.

“You’re off until next week,” T’Challa informs him, and then turns to Steve. “Steve, I’m sure you can see him safely at home.”

“On it, sir,” Steve promises.

“Don’t need a babysitter,” Bucky grumbles, and totally ruins his argument by coughing again.

“Take care of yourself,” T’Challa says, almost smiling. “There is car outside waiting for both of you. I’ll see you soon.”

Bucky sniffs and waves them goodbye, knowing better than to protest, and lets Steve guide him to the sleek black SQ7 parked in front of the building. Steve doesn’t let go of him until they’re in the backseat, and even then they sit with their sides pressed together, Bucky leaning most of his weight on the man next to him. The warmth of Steve’s body and the movements of the car almost lull him to sleep, and Bucky is sure he would’ve passed out if Steve hadn’t made them stop at a drugstore on the way to Bucky’s place to fill up on things to fight off Bucky’s cold.

It isn’t a surprise to Bucky when Steve follows him back into his apartment, not that he would consider complaining. He likes having Steve near him, and a shameless part of him loves it even more that Steve is the one taking care of him.

“Go change into something comfortable,” Steve tells him once they’re inside. “I’ll make you some tea.”

Bucky nods, happy to be in his own space again. He knows taking a shower would probably make him feel better, but at the moment he can’t do much more than slip into his favorite sweats and hoodie and fuzzy socks, picking up Steve’s jacket off his bed and putting it on again.

Steve doesn’t say anything when Bucky comes into the living room and flops down on the couch, grabbing his quilt and burritoing himself under it. Steve doesn’t say anything, but he does raise an eyebrow, gaze flickering to his jacket around Bucky’s shoulders and then back to Bucky’s face.

“What?” Bucky grumbles, coughing a little. He can feel his face flush, but he pretends it’s because of the fever and not because of the way Steve is looking at him, amused and maybe a little fond.

“Here.” Steve hands him a new water bottle and a couple of pills, watching as Bucky swallows them down. He trades the water for a steaming mug of tea, and Bucky can’t help the pleased sound he makes when his palms curls around it, warming him a little. “Be careful, it’s hot.”

 _You’re hot_ , Bucky’s brain supplies, but he keeps quiet when Steve sits down beside him on the couch, close enough to touch. They watch tv and Bucky drinks and finishes his tea, eyes growing heavy as the day finally catches up to him.

 

*

 

Bucky is up in the air.

He tries to blink his eyes open, but all he can see is a flash of navy blue before they close again. He’s cradled against a hard chest, his head resting on a strong shoulder; there are arms around him, keeping him safe. He feels _good_ , or as good as he can feel at the moment. He’s warm and safe and cared for, and he would gladly spend the rest of his days just like this. You know, minus the cold.

Something under his hand trembles, and it takes Bucky a few seconds to realize that someone is _laughing_. He doesn’t know why, but it’s a nice sound, and it brings an answering smile to his lips. He cuddles closer to the person holding him, fingers curling around their clothes. He doesn’t want to let go. Which is why he whimpers a little when he feels someone setting him down on a cold surface, trying to move away from him.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” someone says quietly, a voice Bucky would recognize anywhere.

“Steve?”

“Go back to sleep,” Steve answers, and Bucky could swear those are Steve’s lips on his temple, pressing a kiss there. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Bucky wants to ask him to stay, to hold him again, but he’s out like a light before he can open his mouth.

 

*

 

Bucky opens his eyes, taking stock of himself.

He’s in his bed, still wearing his pajamas and Steve’s jacket, blankets wrapped around himself. His throat still feels a little sore and his nose stuffy, but his head isn’t pounding and his body doesn’t feel like it’s trying to drag him to the ground and keep him there. All in all, he’s feeling much better than he did yesterday.

“Progress,” Bucky mutters to himself, turning to his nightstand and grabbing the glass of water he finds there.

He tries to remember yesterday as he hydrates, brows furrowing as foggy flashes of memory come to him. He recalls being stuck in the elevator with Steve, but not for how long, and he vaguely remembers them both coming back to his apartment and him drinking tea. He has no idea how he ended up in his room, but he’s pretty sure Steve must have carried him there.

The thought of Steve picking him up and carrying him around the apartment makes Bucky’s stomach flip. Bucky isn’t a small guy by any means, and knowing Steve has the strength to hold him up is all kinds of hot.

Just another thing to add to the list of things about Steve Rogers that make Bucky’s brain melt.

Bucky kicks off his blankets, grabs some comfortable clothes, and heads to the bathroom, not looking at himself in the mirror. He turns on the shower and steps into it when the glass starts to steam, groaning when the hot water hits his sore muscles. He takes his time cleaning himself and washing and conditioning his hair, already feeling better than a few minutes ago. The steam helps him breathe a little easier, but he still blows his nose a few times for good measure once he’s out of the shower and dressed.

He leaves Steve’s jacket draped over his desk chair, smiling softly at it before shaking his head at himself, and instead chooses to wrap one of his blankets around his shoulders. He figures he’ll get the jacket back to Steve once he’s back at work on Monday. It’ll be a good excuse to come visit him on his floor, maybe invite him out for coffee as a thank you.

Bucky is still thinking about that when he walks into his kitchen, so he _almost_ misses the fact that there’s already a fresh pot of coffee ready, a small pile of crispy bacon on the counter, and _Steve_ , standing in front of his stove and wearing Bucky’s frilly pink apron that was a gag gift from Sam, making scrambled eggs. As it is, he does _not_ miss all of that, freezing on the doorway, his mouth open and fingers going slack around his blanket and letting it fall to the floor.

“Am I dreaming?” Bucky asks no one, blinking when Steve startles and turns to look at him.

“I don’t know,” Steve answers, lips twitching up. “Are you?”

Bucky blinks and goes to sit by the counter, mouth opening and closing a few times before he says, “Kinda feels like it. You in my kitchen, cooking me breakfast.”

Steve laughs a little, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “Yeah? That’s what you dream of, Buck? People making you food?”

“ _You_ making me food,” Bucky corrects him without meaning to, and then snaps his mouth shut, eyes widening.

“Oh,” is all Steve says, turning off the stove and setting the spatula down. When he twirls around to look at Bucky again, he has a small and hopeful smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, breathless all of a sudden, heart beating rapidly in his chest.

“That’s—,” Steve starts, stops, licks his lips.

“Steve?”

Steve shakes his head, and for a second Bucky’s entire body grows cold with dread. But then Steve is taking three steps and he’s leaning into Bucky’s space, his hands coming up to cup Bucky’s cheeks, tilting his head up.

“That’s what I dream about too,” Steve whispers, cheeks turning pink at the admission, his eyes glinting. And then he smiles, bright and big, and adds, “But not with you sick.”

Bucky laughs, happiness rushing through his body as he leans forward and bumps his head against Steve’s chest. “Yeah, that part kind of sucks.”

“Don’t know,” Steve mutters, one hand on the back of Bucky’s neck, his other resting between Bucky’s shoulder blades. “It got us here, didn’t it?”

Bucky nods, pressing a kiss over Steve’s heart before pulling back. “Just so we’re clear,” he starts, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist, “I like you. A lot.”

“Me too,” Steve tells him, and for a few seconds they just smile at each other, the entire world forgotten.

“I’ve had a crush on you since that first night at the bar,” Bucky adds, butterflies in his stomach when Steve just stares at him in surprise. “When you told the guy who was hassling Sharon to fuck off, and then held her purse while she kicked his ass.”

“It was the right thing to do,” is Steve’s automatic response.

“Yeah, well, that’s when I knew I was in trouble.”

“Bucky,” Steve breathes out, fingers squeezing the back of Bucky’s neck. Bucky can’t help but shiver and lean into the touch, and that makes Steve smile again and lean in close, nuzzling their noses together. “I knew I liked you when you dropped a peanut in Sam’s drink.”

“ _What_?” Bucky barks out a laugh, and then coughs a little.

Steve rubs his back until it stops, kissing the top of his head before pulling back and filling two mugs with coffee. “Here.”

Bucky accepts it, his free hand finding its way to Steve’s waist again. “Thanks. And I only did that because he stole my beer.”

“I know.” Steve nods, smiling. “You still looked guilty as hell when you saw I was watching you, though. But then you smiled and winked, and that’s when I knew.”

“So you liked me because I was an asshole.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “ _Bucky_.”

Bucky apologizes by kissing Steve on the cheek, enjoying the way Steve looks momentarily surprised and then grins. “So we both like each other.”

“We do,” Steve agrees. “And we have for a while.”

“So we’re idiots, too.”

“That’s what Sam will calls us when he finds out about this, yes,” Steve says, not sounding like he minds.

“I’m okay with that.”

“I’d like to take you on a date sometime.” Steve smiles shyly down at him. “Maybe when you’re feeling better.”

“I’m feeling better right now,” Bucky tells him, but ruins it when he sniffs.

“How about when you’re not sniffing and coughing or anything like that, huh?” Steve suggest, eyebrow raised.

Bucky sighs, shoulders slumping. “I guess that’s reasonable.”

“That’s me. I’m a reasonable guy.”

“How about this reasonable guy feeds me breakfast?”

“Coming right up,” Steve says, winking at him before dashing back to the stove.

They sit down and eat breakfast together, talking a little in between bites, sharing smiles and laughs and long glances in between. Bucky still feels a little under the weather, but his heart feels light at having Steve there with him, not out of obligation but because he _wants to_ , because he _likes Bucky_.

“I have to get going,” Steve says once all the food is gone and the dishes are in the sink. “Some of us have to go to work today, and I still need to go home and change.”

Bucky sticks out his tongue at him, picking up his blanket from the floor and wrapping it around himself again. “Do you even have time for that?”

Steve shrugs one shoulder, sneaking his arms around Bucky’s waist. “I’ll be a little late, no harm in that.”

“You can shower here,” Bucky offers, leaning into Steve a little. “And I’m sure I can find a shirt that fits your ridiculous shoulders.”

Steve waggles his eyebrows. “You like my shoulders.”

“Eehh, they’re alright.”

Steve snorts, and Bucky can’t resist but drop a small kiss to the tip of his nose. “C’mon, I promise I won’t pick something ugly for you to wear.”

“Fine.”

Bucky only has a brief moment of panic when he leads Steve to the bathroom, trying to remember if he left his dirty underwear on the floor or not. When he finds nothing but clean tiles he lets out a sigh of relief, and then proceeds to show Steve how everything works and where he can find towels.

Fifteen minutes later Steve in standing on Bucky’s bedroom, dressed in his own slacks and one of Bucky’s dark gray sweaters. A sweater that looks like it’s glued on him, much to Steve’s dislike and Bucky’s amusement.

“Looks good,” Bucky informs him, snickering at Steve’s flat expression. “Try not to flex too much, though, or the sleeves might rip.”

Steve throws his wet towel back on Bucky’s face. “Jerk.”

Bucky lets it drop to the floor and smiles, picking up Steve’s jacket and holding it up for him. Steve lets Bucky help him with the jacket, standing still while Bucky fixes the collar and does up the buttons.

“Thanks,” Steve says, brushing Bucky’s hair from his forehead.

“Don’t thank me.” Bucky shakes his head, hands stopping on Steve’s shoulders. “You took care of me before, I’m just returning the favor.”

Steve pulls him into a tight hug, lips brushing the side of Bucky’s neck in the ghost of a kiss. “Walk me out?”

Bucky does, their hands tangled together. It gives him the chance to pull Steve back when he tries to leave, both of them standing in front of Bucky’s open apartment door, staring at each other.

“Can I have a kiss goodbye?” Bucky asks, voice low and tentative.

“Will you take care of me if I get sick?” Steve snarks back, smiling and already leaning in a little.

“I breathed on you the entire time we were in that elevator,” Bucky huffs. “If you catch a cold it’ll be because of that.”

“Is that a no?” Steve pouts, pink lips pursed.

“It’s a yes, sweetheart,” Bucky answers, and closes the distance between them, catching Steve’s mouth in a chaste kiss.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [crossposted on tumblr ~](http://hawkguyz.tumblr.com/post/146319528131/stuck-on-you)


End file.
